“I would like to say, pardon me, because we are in my house right now, and I don’t see you making any offers to do the cooking, and no while you’re at it, I do not have Michelin stars, so yes, I’m not being a professional, but you’re going to eat whatever I cook anyway."
{— Fingers toyed with the lighter, slowly flicking it on and off in silent wait. Until her annoyance grew too much and her head lifted, gaze venturing to the other side of the room. “You weren’t supposed to be here, now you’ve implicated yourself.” Once more Tasha fell silent as emerald orbs bore into the other set.}
“And what is it I’ve exactly walked myself into? Am I now accomplice for some terrifying misery you’ve executed upon something? Or is it something I’m missing entirely?” He’s already here, he’s not about to turn around and leave at the expense of her peculiar speech. Nothing seemed too out of place in Bard’s opinion, he was not the one to judge. }}
” what, doi look like a cicada or spago kind of guy? ” he’s dined there before. of course he has. but he isn’t about to divulge that information — it’s not relevant right now. it’s a degree of relatability that drives a relationship forward, right? he doesn’t remember quite enough to know whether this is true or not, but he’s just going to forge on with that philosophy. he remembers quickly why now that he and zevran didn’t go out so much, nor did they have a courting period. he was rubbish at it.
he shrugs, winding his pasta around his fork before popping a bite into his mouth, chewing, and swallowing. “mcdonald’s was my lifeblood during college — i pretty much moved in there while i was studying for my bar exam. they cook fast, it tastes good, and their fries are so salty they tasted just like my tears.” he chuckles, thanking as he allows bard to pour more wine into his cup.
” ‘chaotic’? hell yes. it almost seems like my firm can do nothing without me — at least the people under me, but what i wouldn’t give to have a day off, spend some time with my son, though i’m pretty sure he would call it smothering.” as the head, he could logically do all his work at home, and never have to step foot in a courtroom again, but he’d insisted that he had to, it was what he promised his father. “truth be told, i’m glad i stopped at one kid. not that i could go any further, since morrigan ran off when legolas was only a month old. but i can’t imagine how it’d be with three legolases running around — how do you manage it?”
“IfI were to say yes, would that change your response?” Bard feigned a rather serious expression, before unclasping his hands and finding solace in a relaxed stature. “No, there’s no judgement anywhere. It’s a simple idea of preference. I believe that home cooking and take out has become the rut of my life is all. Are my displays of my dull life screaming madly a large sign of ‘single father: at a loss?” Facts were facts, and from one to another, Thranduil could possibly understand moreso than the average person.
“Mm. Exams. Never quite my favourite. Well it was worth all the while, considering where you are at now. Although, I am sure that McDonald’s appreciated the patronage, wholeheartedly.” Bard could not resist laughing at the man’s humour, something that did not come quite as easily to himself.
“When’s the last time you’ve had a vacation? Lawyers surely deserve those too, no? Unless you’ve got a handful of cases still opened, and the temptation to take upon another.” Brows rose, as he moved backwards for the appetizers the waitress placed before them, and he let the soup cool before burning his tongue. “Three Legolases, well. That would be quite the handful.” Ah, so it was true. Ran off. He concealed the interest, as confirmation rather than continuous hearsay from others was a very intriguing difference in how the mind took in those bits of information. “If I must be very honest… I hardly managed in the beginning. It was difficult,” lest not to speak of how he coped with such an unexpected loss. “Thankfully they’re not troublemakers, for the most part. If they were, I am sure I would have lost my handle upon them. I am very lucky."
“ah, well,legolas has always seemed independent enough — whether it’s good or bad i’m a bit conflicted. he’s always been able to get along well by himself, and i can only assume it’s because of his mother’s influence that he’s always… like that.” he’s haughty — almost embarrassingly so. but legolas bears morrigan’s sneer and teasing lilt that he’d so loved about her — only to turn it on his father ina bit of rebelliousness. was there ever such a possibility that a child could get too friendly with their parent? boundaries were nonexistent between the two, but to a negative respect. it would make sense why bard had thought it was legolas pranking him in their initial texts.
he takes a nother sip of his wine before setting his glass down on the table. “want me to go first?” he ponders for a moment, questioning what would be far too inappropriate a subject to breach on a first… outing. date. whatever — he was done with thinking up different names for this odd meeting.
it was obviously too soon to bring up past relationships — he had no problems discussing morrigan, zevran, and tamlen, but he was sure that bard’s late wife could still be a sore subject for the man. he imagined it would be for anyone. he was the odd one out, probably because he had faced death far earlier than most should have, and thus accepted it as a facet of life far too quickly.
“hmm.” he absentmindedly scratches at his forearm. does he even know bard’s birthday? he doesn’t think so. it wouldn’t hurt to begin so simply, could it? “ah, well, i was born on the 19th of september, so i’m a ‘sensitive virgo’,” he puts on a mockery of elrond’s voice there, “in the year 1978, so you can do the math for my age, and i was born and raised in la, which is why this place is like a second home to me. well, here and mcdonald’s.”
thranduil leans back, not quite sure if this beginning was quite adequate, but he’d not been expecting anything but awkwardness since he sat down, so he supposes he isn’t actually disappointing himself too badly.
The cup is empty before he knew, and he rested his elbow upon the edge of the table as the facts began. “I guess my birthday’s further away, when weather begins to better itself.” It’s a joking tone, he’s not actually trying to push buttons. “Late April for myself– I think that makes me a…. Taurus?” Horoscopes, he was not familiar with. It was simpy the page he passed in the newspaper every morning. “You don’t seem to be the type for McDonald’s, I have to admit.” His vagueness was not purposeful, he simply did not find himself to be particularly interesting. People often found things out about him as time progressed, so to pull out strands of facts one by one, it was different. A peacock on display.
"I moved here from Scarsdale. Change of pace, from that suburb. It’s… different. The traffic is hellish, but it’s just an unfortunate part of the lifestyle here. More?“ He offered, moving to pour more into Thranduil’s cup. "I always thought I’d return to the East coast after school, but it never really happened. That’s alright. Settled down, Sigrid came along, the rest is history, and I’m— well. Here.”
He skipped a large gap in the middle, but ‘scaring Thranduil off with the ghosts of Bard’s past’ was not one of his main objectives today. Dear lord, someone just lock him up now and let him continue his ordinary life of work, sleep, children. “Do you ever wish for a less chaoticlife?"
“oh, me,i’ve only learned for the hundredth time that ‘innocent until proven guilty’ is apparently, to the prosecution, a sack of crap made up by someone who was obviously guilty of something,” he responds, swirling his glass in his hand before he takes a small sip, admiring the sweetness. “this case would be cut and dry if it weren’t for some random witness they just fished out of nowhere.” he sniffed petulantly. “i’m overworked enough as it is.” he realizes that he’s frowning, and instead shakes his head to clear himself of the thoughts.
he’s probably getting wrinkles in his brows just by picturing his office in his head, so he’ll leave that for some other time. for now, it’s just him and bard. a situation he’d thought would never actually come to pass — adoring stares aside, all of his feelings had been naught but fantasy. born of loneliness, perhaps? his bed had remained empty for a good sixteen years straight, if one were to obviously negate the nights where little legolas had nightmares and rested easier curled into his father’s side.
"you know,” he begins, unsure of how to proceed, “it has… occurred to me that i really don’t know that much about you, bard.” he wonders if there’s offense there — there shouldn’t be. he knows as much about bard as bard knows about him. they’ve only been acquaintances up until now, adults whom they trusted to have their children kept safe, but aside from that, there was little conversation he could recall.
“i mean… i know your kids, i know your office hours, and i know your phone number. obviously,” he rolls his eyes. “but… nothing else, really. not where you were born, how you grew up… i’m a little intrigued now. maybe a good game of ‘quid pro quo’, combined withe a little alcohol — what could go wrong?”
“The law is still the law, so… until we revert back to the death penalty everywhere, I am hoping that innocent until proven guilty is still a thing. Have you heard about that awful case where that child was prosecuted and sentenced to death, only for it to be thrown out years later? It doesn’t matter when a life has been cost—-” Bard cut himself off at his opinion turning into a ramble. “Sometimes I wonder, how easily a witness could be paid or planted. Couldn’t help it, the same thing sort of occurs in my field of work as well.”
“If anything, my office hours are much more reasonable than your own.” The corner of Bard’s eyes crinkled, and he offered a well-natured smile after taking a drink. “I wouldn’t say I’m an interesting person, per say. There… isn’t too much to know.” Resting chin upon palm, he pondered. Ask him a favourite colour, and he could respond. But when the field was opened up wide, well damn. He was a rubbish goalie.
“Tit for tat, aye? That is fine by me.” He raised the glass up higher in agreement, a playful smirk gracing his lips as he tilted his head for an answer. “Well."
It’s been so long since he’d had a go at this whole scene. What was to be said, what shan’t be said, forbidden conversations, conversations needing privacy, too much information, too vague thus being cornered as ambiguous and unwilling. Goodness. No wonder Sigrid had her head full with confusions and spontaneous moments of frustration at her mobile out of the blue when she’d probably received a text or two that left her rather flustered.
No, Bard decided to skip the drivel about family and bloodlines. Shrugging uneasily, he downed his cup and leaned back in his chair, peering Thranduil in the eyes. "With the fine balancing between family, work and time to oneself, it’s a miracle I even get to see the sun anymore. Which is a rarity in itself,” he murmured, tilting to the window far off to their right, pitch black otherwise splattered with concrete jungle light’s glow. "Itis a little difficult to partake in some hobbies I would like to bring up again when there are my three at home. It is easier, now that Bain and Sigrid are older, but still. Sometimes I wonder what on Earth goes on in that house when I am not there.“
They say he is colder in person, though with that, he cannot truly contest. Those whom he’s called friends have often referred to him in different forms of ‘loser’ and ‘dork’, but when it came to his associates and partners at the firm, he was always more than silent — almost simply not there. Perhaps it is in his nature to be shut down around people he dislikes, or whom he figures dislikes himself in return, but now, he cannot afford to keep up the facade.
Problem is, he has no idea just what this facade truly is, and whether or not he’s currently wearing it now. The only reason he’d even discovered its existence in the first place was because his son had made an absent-minded comment about his friends being scared of him.
After being ushered out the door, reassured a thousand times over by Legolas that he looked fine, it only took him long over half-hour to get to the restaurant, held up by traffic. He constantly flicks glances to his watch, growing more fidgety with every minute he’s late. It looks horrendous — he was the one who suggested the dinner in the first place, and here he is, making his date — is it a date? — wait for him.
Thranduil can only hope that he hasn’t horribly offended Bard, that he hasn’t up and left out of exasperation and possibly anger, and so it soothes him when he sees the man still there, looking pitifully alone by himself in a corner table.
“Hello,” he says, sliding into the booth opposite Bard, popping a button open on his suit jacket as he sits down. “Sorry I’m late — there was this wreck on the freeway, so there was really heavy traffic.”
He picks up the menu, scanning over dishes he’s already memorized, before looking up at him. He asks for a bottle of merlot and laces his fingers together as they order. Once the waitress has left, he leans slightly forward on his elbows, probably looking as tense as he feels.
He hasn’t had to impress anyone in a long time, and he’s determined not to screw it up. It doesn’t occur to him that he’s in ‘Thranduil-the-Simon-Cowell-of-Law’ mode, looking cold and standoffish as he speaks. “How’ve you been, Bard? Your kids all right?”
Releasing a slow but silent breath out of relief when the man of the hour makes himself known before him, Bard no longer has to get those pitying looks from the waiter. That was probably his own fault for getting there too early, and the traffic is horrendous as it was. The menu’s dismissed entirely, as food at any restaurant, any meeting was never his first concern, rather it being the person in front of him. And it did not change, and perhaps was heightened in this scenario.
“Don’t worry yourself, it’s not a big deal.” He flashed a smile at Thranduil, an intake of breath as his mind swirled slightly. How did they end up in this situation again, and rather so spontaneously over a course of a handful of hours? It was better not to question it. “It’s been a… while.” The two hardly saw one another unless it was a simple passing when their children crossed paths, or the very rare run-in at a supermarket (does Thranduil shop at the supermarket? Or does he have a personal shopper? Why was he thinking about stupid things like this? He really needed to stop.)
“The children are.. alright. What can I honestly say about a handful of teenagers, and a little one? But Bain’s not bad. I would have expected worse at that age, but he’s quite well mannered for the most part.” Bard pondered, leading the conversation away from their children as he blatantly remembered calling Thranduil out about Legolas sending prank texts. No, he would rather not get back into that topic. “Have you been busying yourself with work lately? Haven’t heard much about you at all, although Sigrid has mentioned Legolas once every so often–” So much for not mentioning children.
Hopefully the Merlot would loosen their tied tongues up once it was properly delivered, oh look, speak of the devil. The waiter brought glasses, and poured a miniscule amount, as they always seemed to do in restaurant before taking his leave for the two gentlemen to sit in their rather tense air.
